


Cavalier Eternal

by qianwanshi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Extremely Slow Burn, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Overwatch, Pre-Overwatch, Trans Male Character, Trans McCree, but like mutual annoyances to friends to lovers, discussion of canon trauma (genji), good guy gabe reyes, mid-overwatch, no transphobia it's the future, not enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qianwanshi/pseuds/qianwanshi
Summary: It was hard, at the time, to figure out where everything had gone wrong. He still wasn’t completely sure what happened to get his family into trouble with people so bad, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. Results were the same either way; his parents were dead, he had nowhere safe to go, and he had to hit the road fast if he didn’t want to join them.Glimpses of Jesse's life as he grows up.





	Cavalier Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this well before the Ashe reveal and didn't change it to fit her into it im sorry jeff.   
> I don't know what happened, I had an idea and some scenes and just all of this happened at once. This will be in two parts, originally I wanted to just post one giant thing but having all this sitting waiting in a doc was weighing on me.
> 
> I love trans mccree? I myself am not trans, if you are and you feel that I've horribly mis-represented your life, please feel free to tell me so. I promise this is not a misery dysphoria sad-fest, Jesse is just a guy growing up in future idk, new mexico or whatever.
> 
> I used the best timeline I could find on google but god knows those things don't stay canon for more than 5 minutes. I tried to keep all the major things consistent ie age gaps and major event orders, please ignore any minor inconsistencies.

Seven (2046)

He was seven when he finally sat down with his mother and spilled his heart out to her.

“Mama, I hate wearing dresses and I hate my hair in bows and I hate it being so long.” He remembered the burning in his eyes as he’d worked himself into a near frenzy and had started to cry. “I’m a _boy_.”

His mother had looked surprised, at the outburst or the tears, he didn’t know; but she’d embraced him. Warm and soft and smelling of fresh bread and flowers like she always did.

“Baby,” she said. She wiped his tears on her sleeves and eased his breathing back to normal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay?” He’d asked.

She kissed his forehead, kissed his temple, his cheeks, his chin, smooching loudly until she could draw a laugh from him. “Of course it’s okay.” His face was cradled in both of her warm hands and she smiled at him. “I’d always hoped to have a son.” His Mama couldn’t have babies after him. Couldn’t get him a brother or sister. 

That day passed like a dream, even to a seven year old. Together they’d packed up his girly clothes to get rid of, though there weren’t a whole lot as he’d had the reputation of a tomboy already. His mama had dragged a chair out into the sunny afternoon heat and sat him down, doing her very best to cut his long hair into something he liked. It wasn’t perfect, choppy and a bit uneven, but to Jesse it was the happiest day of his life for years to follow. 

His Pop came home after sundown like always, dead on his feet from his long hours at the car shop. Dinner was almost done, and he groaned wearily when he took his usual seat, cowboy hat hanging over a lamp and bending to remove his shoes.

“Hi Papa,” he greeted, just like every other night. This night felt different. Nerve wracking. 

“Hey there.” Pop groaned and stretched and his joints popped loudly. His Pop was the oldest man he knew. “Now that’s a mighty fine haircut you got.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah!” He reached out and ruffled the freshly cropped locks. “Looks good on a growin boy.”

Jesse beamed with stars in his eyes, showing off the gap his missing front tooth had left behind.

______

Twelve (2051)

School was okay. Jesse had friends and got decent grades. He wasn’t the best in his class, but they all knew he’d end up right next to his old man in the garage in a few years anyway, so it wasn’t something to fuss about. He’d already started training by that age, in fact, running on his own two feet through the dust after school every day to take apart engines and learn to replace brake lines. It was hard work and he came home filthy every day, bone tired but satisfied.

He got his period that year. It came without much warning and prompted another long sit down chat with his mother. He’d had a basic understanding of what was to be expected, but actually experiencing it was something else entirely. That particular chat introduced him to the concept of hormone replacement, but only as something that rich folks got to benefit from, not car repair men.

So he tolerated it. It sucked, but it wasn’t the worst thing. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the boobs. 

He was a string bean of a kid. Recent growth spurt and a poverty created diet made sure of that. They were still there though, still noticeable, still made him uncomfortable.

Again, though, surgery would be cosmetic, a luxury that only people with much more money than the little McCree family had to their name got to have.

So he explored holovids and did research and bound his chest in until he could save up for something better. 

______

 

Fifteen (2054)

It was hard, at the time, to figure out where everything had gone wrong. He still wasn’t completely sure what happened to get his family into trouble with people so bad, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. Results were the same either way; his parents were dead, he had nowhere safe to go, and he had to hit the road fast if he didn’t want to join them.

He’d grabbed a bag, shoved a handful of clothes into it, put on his sturdiest boots, and rushed into the dusty world. He didn’t know if the people who hurt his family would come back for him, and enough survival instinct had been ingrained in him to know when to fight and when to run.

It was rough, leaving everything behind. His home, his belongings, the garage that he’d loved more than anything with the tough dirty rewarding work. He’d stopped on his way out, a stupid risk, but he wasn’t known for his smarts even back then. He grabbed a necklace from his Mama’s dresser, a simple cross on a long chain, and tucked it down in his shirt for safety. On his way out the door, his Pop’s old cowboy hat, left there hanging on their old lamp like always.

He wandered for weeks, surviving off of scraps and the good will of strangers. People in the city were willing to spare a little for the filthy kid who looked half starved hiding in alleys. Lucky for him New Mexico didn’t get very cold too often. Night was a bit of a challenge at times, but he’d found a group of down on their luck folks who offered a place amongst them to sleep. They were human and omnic alike; nothing brought people together like misery, it seemed.

He got a scrap of an old blanket to drape over his shoulders and a relatively safe place to sleep at night. He was younger than everyone else there, and they liked him enough.

It was complete chance that he ran into anyone from Deadlock. He was out searching for food, digging through literal trash for whatever he could get his hands on when he ran into three older men at the backdoor of some establishment or another.

They’d reeled him in, told him they needed someone small to cause a distraction out front, they’d make it worth his time. He agreed easily, honestly. Maybe someone else in his position would have said no, would have followed a stronger moral compass. He followed his gut, which was starving and looking a chance for some real food for once.

Apparently he did a better job than they’d expected, because they took him in and gave him the biggest burger he’d seen in years. He scarfed it down as they talked around him. How useful it would be to have someone locals didn’t recognize, to cause distractions, to fit into small spaces.

They invited him in and he, against his better judgement, agreed. Sometimes the path to better chances of survival was littered with bad moral choices. Better he join someone like Deadlock than be pulling holdups and robbing innocent people blind. 

The gang didn’t hurt nobody, for the most part. Not when he first joined. They’d go after wealthy visitors and people they had personal problems with. Violence wasn’t a big part of it unless they were left with no other choice. 

They found out about him, about his body. Wasn’t ever some big secret, he’d never tried to hide. They didn’t care either way, he played his role well and he could make the other guys laugh something wicked after a long day in the sun. 

Another guy, Gonzalez, had a sister like Jesse, he said. Loved her to the moon n back, would’ve done anything for her. Every cent he picked up was for her going to school. Jesse missed having people who cared about him like that.

______

Seventeen (2056 - Spring)

It would have been shocking how much things could change in two years if he hadn’t already learned how much could change in an instant when his parents ended up dead. In two years Deadlock changed drastically. Gained new members, new leadership, moved up into a bigger base of operations out in the desert together. It was out of the way, but close enough to a small town for basic needs. A little diner with some of the best pancakes and shittiest coffee Jesse’d ever had. A pretty waitress, too, but new leadership made it clear what he thought about members fraternizing with locals. 

A shame, too, he’d have loved the chance to take her to the cave of mystery just down the way. 

Their work changed, too.

When Jesse had first found himself mixed in with Deadlock, it was petty shit. Just some kids who had had some rough times trying to make ends meet.

After a while, though, their leader “left”. There was no proof, but Jesse suspected he’d been taken out by their new leader, and either chased off or killed. Based on how the new guy operated, probably the latter. The way of gangs, he supposed.

The new leader had a bit of a Robin Hood complex. Wanted to take from the rich and give to the poor. Eventually he just wanted to take from everyone and keep it all.

Jesse inherited an old used gun and learned to shoot empty beer cans. He wasn’t small enough to play distraction anymore, and it was time to prove himself useful elsewhere or face the consequences of being an unproductive member of a deadly gang. He got roped into their robberies, most often as a lookout. His vision was impeccable and he could hit a target from a distance most of the other guys couldn’t even dream of. 

They all got marked. Tattoos like a brand on every color skin they had. Jesse chose his forearm, felt like it was safest. Drank himself silly the whole time so he couldn’t think about how much he would regret it as soon as it was done.

They tried to make him dress as a girl once. He had the body for it, they said, it would really draw out the mark who had been successfully evading them.

It was demeaning, frustrating, humiliating. Gonzalez, who Jesse didn’t yet know was a month from leaving them in the middle of the night, pointed out how fucked up it was. None of that mattered.

It only got called off because Jesse couldn’t walk in the damn shoes. It turned out the mark was an undercover cop anyway, and the whole thing became a joke. That time Jesse McCree saved them because he didn’t know how to wear a dress.

He took the shoes and chucked them over the cliff near the diner with the shitty coffee that same night. He sat there until the sun set and the cold desert night moved in around him. It felt like hours later that someone approached him, feet crunching in the dusty rocky ground. Delicate ankles, a bright yellow dress with a stained apron, a hand holding out a travel cup for him.

“You don’t usually look so glum,” Abigail, his pretty waitress, said. “What’s eatin’ ya?”

Jesse shrugged and took a wary drink from his cup. It was as familiar and bad as ever. He missed home, his real home.

Abigail sat down next to him and pulled two cigarettes from her apron pocket, Jesse accepted one with a nod of thanks.

“You ever think of just… leaving?” Abigail asked once her cigarette was mostly gone.

It had been feeling more and more like it was all he ever thought about with every passing day. “Where would I go?” He asked. Himself, Abigail, God if there was one out there listening. 

“I’d go to Hollywood.” She was so sure of her answer, like she’d been laying out plans for years. Maybe she had been. “Get into movies, go to fancy parties.”

Jesse ground the end of his cigarette into the ground. “You’re pretty enough to.”

The blush that colored Abigail’s cheeks was prettier than the sunset just a few hours before. She leaned to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. “You’re too good for this life, Jesse McCree,” she said. 

She stood and wiped the dust from her skirt before she wandered back off toward the diner alone.

______

(2056 - Winter)

Something big was happening. Jesse didn’t know what, but there was an energy amongst the gang that hadn’t been around in a very long time. Some huge deal had come their way, but that was as much as he knew. He was included, but only on the fringes.

He saw scraps of plans being made, something around the train tracks, something about stopping and unloading and setting up with a buyer. 

When the planning stages continued and continued with an amount of organization he hadn’t seen before from Deadlock, that’s when he got curious.

“All this work for what? Who’s the mark?” He finally spoke up one evening over some scraps of food, old biscuits.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” one of the other guys he was stuck in a corner with responded. “I heard it was a government thing. Weapons.”

Weapons were news to Jesse. Revenge, paid hits, robbery, sure. Even drugs came up from time to time, when someone real rich got involved, but weapons? Who the hell were they stealing weapons from? Who was setting up to buy them? He knew better than to ask.

“Whoever wants them is willing to pay a pretty penny, too.” The same guy said. “We’ll be set up for months”

Train Heist Day came and Train Heist Day went. 

Deadlock was gone.

Jesse watched his leader drop dead to the ground from across the expanse of the recently ruined valley beneath the train tracks. All around him were men swarming, Deadlock scrambling and military pouring in. He saw a man crushed by one of the train cars still twitching, another he’d eaten dinner with two days ago with a knee between his shoulder blades and hands being cuffed behind him, a relatively new recruit making the mistake of his life by pointing a gun at one of the military types.

He was a kid. He’d been desperate for food and shelter and somehow ended up here. He wasn’t a saint, he knew that much by then, but he wasn’t a murderer either. Self preservation kicked in, flight defeated fight by a landslide, and Jesse turned to run.

Right into one of the biggest guys he’d ever seen.

There was barely a chance to look over the intimidating tac suit before a gloved fist broke his nose and a gruff voice said, “stay down, kid.”

\--

Everyone who wasn’t dead was dragged into a series of cells and interrogation rooms. It was hours before Jesse was put into a room with his hands cuffed to a table, and then even longer before another human eventually came into the room. 

“Name?” The officer looking type prompted.

Jesse knew the picture he painted, sitting there. There was rarely a day his face wasn’t dirt smudged normally, but he looked worse after the heist went bad. His hair was mussed (his hat had been removed when they got to the jail and he’d almost gotten punched a second time for raising a fuss about it), his nose felt crooked and numb and on top of all the sweat and grime from his day was dried blood.

He snort-sniffled loudly and regretted it as soon as he tasted blood in the back of his throat. “Fuck you,” he responded.

Officer type did not look impressed. “You got any weapons on you, Fuck You?” 

“You took my gun,” Jesse pointed out. “There’s a knife in my boot.”

The officer approached and removed his knife, sliding it across the table. He searched everywhere else a weapon might be stashed, hands gripping at pockets, his back, sides, chest, and he froze. Jesse’s chest was still bound up, but any idiot could tell what was there. His hands jerked, stalled, and pulled away. Just as Jesse was going to bite something out at him, the door clicked open a second time.

A big guy came in, tall, muscular, brown skin, eye bags the size of New Mexico.

“Clean,” Officer said. He grabbed the knife off the table and made to leave. He paused at the door to have a brief murmured exchange with the big guy. 

“You’re the one who punched me.” Jesse watched him sit at the opposite side of the table with a little notepad and a massive thermos of coffee. 

The guy blinked at him, took in his entire disastrous appearance. “Yeah. Commander Reyes.”

“Jesse McCree.” He hadn’t even expected to give out his name, it just happened. The guy’s presence somehow demanded acquiescence. 

“How’s your nose, McCree?” The Commander asked. The notebook was open in front of him, but he didn’t have a pen, Jesse would’ve put money on him being so tired he forgot.

He sniffled again, trying with all his will to not scrunch his face as he did. “Fuckin’ hurts.”

If the Commander didn’t have a face carved out of immovable stone, Jesse would’ve sworn he’d seen a slight twitch in his lips. 

“What’d that guy tell you?” Jesse asked. He wanted to get this over with.

The Commander shifted in his seat, but he didn’t throw up immediate uncomfortable body language. “Just some observations.”

“I know what he observed,” Jesse pushed relentlessly forward. “He’s wrong.”

Reyes said nothing, he listened and inclined his head, a signal that he’s waiting for more.

“I’m a man.” He didn’t shrink in on himself, the way he might have when he was younger. He sat up as straight as being chained to a table would let him exuding his readiness to fight if he needed to. “Body just got it wrong.”

It was a sentiment his Mama had told him when he was a young kid. There wasn’t something wrong with him, just when he was in her belly his body and his soul had gotten mixed messages. If he agreed with that as an adult or not was still up for debate, but it had always been a simplified explanation.

“Okay,” Commander Reyes finally responded.

Jesse stared for a long while. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Reyes confirmed. “That’s not why we’re here, is it?”

That much was abundantly clear.

“Who were you stealing weapons for?” Reyes asked, one finger tapping a second hand rhythm on the table.

Jesse shrugged as well as he could manage.

“You know who you were stealing from?”

Jesse shook his head. 

“You expect me to believe that?” Reyes leaned into the table, both elbows resting right at the edge. 

“No one tells me nothin’,” Jesse said. “I’m just the lookout.”

There was a long, oppressive silence. He was sure it was meant to be some kind of intimidation tactic, build up the pressure like a slow cooker and get answers. 

“How old are you, kid?” Reyes asked after enough time passed without Jesse expanding his answer.

His impulse was to lie. He’d been telling people he was 20 for the better part of the year already anyway, but where was the advantage here? He was caught, and this guy wasn’t a cop. This was beyond jail territory, Jesse wasn’t convinced he’d be alive to see the next morning. When you got nothing left to lose, the truth comes out.

“Seventeen,” he said.

“Why are you mixed up in this?” Reyes looked… actually interested. Curious. 

“I was homeless.” The truth dam had been broken, and it all came pouring out. His parents, their killers, his desperation. 

They talked for a while; like, actually talked. The Commander asked Jesse about his schooling, about his skills. He’d never before been interrogated by someone, but he felt like that wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were just normal questions you ask when you meet someone new. 

After a while he was told to “hang tight” and the Commander left him alone in the room for so long he was half dozing when the door opened again. 

“You wanna go to jail, McCree?” Reyes asked plainly.

Jesse looked around the room, toward the mirror he knew was a one way window, like someone was about to jump out and laugh at him. “No?” It didn’t seem likely to work, but it couldn’t have hurt to try.

“Join Overwatch, then.” He followed up immediately.

Overwatch, the crazy super soldier military put in place to protect the world. Of course Jesse had heard of them, growing up as a kid during the worst of the crisis and seeing kids in his classes with lunchboxes of their favorite heroes and all. He didn’t know much about them, but it definitely explained a lot about how this Reyes guy operated.

His silence must have looked contemplative, because Reyes spoke up again. “Jail or Overwatch, those are your options.”

______

Nineteen (2058)

Joining Overwatch, and ultimately joining Blackwatch, wasn’t something Jesse had considered an easy choice. It was easy in that it had been done quickly, because his other choice was to go rot away in a cell, but it wasn’t something he thought he’d been prepared for.

He’d not only had access to medical care for the first time in as long as he could remember, but he actually was forced to go to appointments before he could work. Policy, or something, nothing he was used to. He had physicals - horrible, dental checkups - even worse, and psych evaluations - actually kind of unexpectedly helpful.

There was a lot of work before he could be mission cleared, and it took months and months to get through. He’d had to get multiple fillings, and it may have been the worst experience of his life.

No one ever questioned him, not even once. He had to talk a bit about growing up with a body that didn’t feel right for the rest of him, and no one suggested he was confused or in a phase or could be fixed.

He was recommended for hormone therapy, and eventually, surgery. He’d packed on weight and was thankful for the 24/7 cafeteria and the on-site gym to work through the changes. At nineteen he was barely recognizable as the same kid Reyes had one punched out in the desert. He’d bulked up with new muscle and even grew a few inches taller. He was working on growing out some facial hair, but Reyes told him it wasn’t working for him. (Okay, he told Jesse he looked like a pervert, and had actually cracked an honest to god smile right after, laughing at himself like he was some comedy master.)

Their work was hard and Reyes could be harsh and unforgiving even if they got along well enough, but it was all worth it to finally have the chance to stop feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

They were out on mission for a couple months that year. Something Jack had insisted on sending them out for that Gabe hadn’t agreed with. As a result, it had him bitching all day and grumbling all night. Jesse snuck off into the nearby town, dressed casual of course, and back into their base in under an hour. He didn’t bother knocking at Gabe’s door, letting himself in. He looked about to snap until he saw that it was Jesse, and then actually half-smiled when he saw what he was holding: tequila and a bag full of street food. 

That night was long and blurry in his memory. They’d both gotten quite drunk and stayed up into the early hours of the morning. He remembered something he’d been wondering about near non-stop bubbling to the surface very suddenly.

“Why didn’t anyone else take the offer?” He’d asked.

Gabe blinked at him, trying to put together if this question was related to what they’d been talking about moments before. “Who?”

“Deadlock,” Jesse clarified. In the days after the train heist, he’d expected to see a few of the others in his gang moved into the ranks of Overwatch. “None of them accepted your offer?”

There was this unique expression that Jesse had only ever seen Gabe Reyes pull off so easily. It suggested ‘you’re a fuckin’ idiot’ and ‘you’re lucky I like you’ in equal part. “No one else got an offer,” he admitted.

The very idea that Jesse had been the only one to get a job offer instead of a jail sentence had never even occurred to him before that night. Even then it didn’t settle right in his head straight away, although that could have had a lot to do with the tequila.

“You were the only one who didn’t lie his ass off,” Gabe elaborated without prompting. He looked over at Jesse with an expression that might have been pride if it were on any face other than that of his hardass commander. “Never did get that nose straightened out.”

Jesse pressed a thumb against the crooked bump of his long healed nose. “Adds character.”

______

Twenty-Two (2061)

Something major was in the works within Overwatch. That wasn’t unusual, Jesse supposed. There was always something newer, bigger, and weirder. Their most recent entry was a scientist gorilla from the moon, so he was pretty used to rolling with the changes as they came.

Morrison was snappy and pushy and made Jesse glad that Blackwatch stuck to their own quarters for the most part. He was an efficient leader, sure, but Jesse would rather work under Reyes any day.

Not that he would ever tell Reyes that.

They’d been tracking a lot of interesting names out there for years, and they were getting ready to make a move. Some crime lord in South America with ties to the elusive Shimadas in Japan. It was taking months of working and planning and stressing it out. An undercover agent was in the mix and it was beyond time to extract her and her intel quietly. One wrong move and all ties are broken, their cover is blown, and agents could die.

Their undercover agent hadn’t been found out yet, but if extraction wasn’t done carefully, she would be in a heartbeat and their key entry point had been shut down because of an incoming hurricane. Can’t do much against acts of nature.

Morrison was at a loss, Reyes was wracking his mind, and Winston was tracking her with satellite at every moment he could get a decent view through the storm. When several weeks passed that way, Jesse finally spoke up in one of their many meetings that was headed in the same direction as so many others: loud fights and no solutions.

“Just put her on a train,” he said. He stood when the room went quiet and gestured toward the large display featuring Winston’s latest information. “Her cover story says she’s from that city, make up a sick family member. A train to the city, we have a safe house there she can disappear to. She keeps heading north we can pick her up somewhere safe.”

He carefully tacked on an “uh, sir.”

Everyone was silent for an extended period. “It’s the best idea we’ve heard so far,” Reyes spoke up in his favor.

Only after the plan was executed successfully in the exact way Jesse had laid out did he realize just how strange it felt. Deadlock never asked his opinion and never would have allowed him to share it. He was valuable for his eyes and his aim, not for his brain. 

His Commander spoke up for him, supported him, wanted his input and actually used it because it was good input. It was… respect. The word felt strange rattling around in his head, impossible. 

He walked out of the stuffy planning office ready to book it to the nearest food he could find but was stopped by Ana in the hall.

“You’re much smarter than you lead people to believe,” she said. She always had a look in her eyes like she was seeing right through people. It was no wonder Fareeha never got away with anything; he was half convinced she could see straight through the walls.

He shrugged at her. Maybe his slightly dense image was by design, maybe it was him allowing people to assume on sight and not correcting them. 

“Going to the range?” She asked in a sweet voice. Deceptively sweet. Going to the range meant her kicking his ass about his bad form.

“Not a chance.” He chuckled a bit. “Headed out, I’m hungry.”

Ana clucked her tongue at him, a pitying noise. “Absolutely not, come have something home cooked.”

“Who’s cooking?” He asked.

She did not bother to mask her annoyance. “Sam is.”

Jesse laughed and agreed to go, laughing harder when Ana shoved into his shoulder.

The Amari family had a much bigger housing unit than Jesse’s small quarters that he used all on his own. It made sense, considering they were a proper family and all. It was warm and comfortable and every square foot of it screamed ‘home’. He loved spending time there, even if he acted like a spoiled kid about it.

Fareeha jumped from her seat when he walked through the door behind Ana, abandoning her homework spread out over the table instantly. She shouted his name and dove into a warm hug. He couldn’t believe she was the same age now that he was when he was recruited. Had he looked so young back then? 

“Hi, brat,” he greeted like always. 

“Ugh.” She shoved him away and reached up to tug on the front of his hair, all annoying little sister. “You need a haircut, you look like a shaggy dog.”

“I think I look handsome.” He brushed his fingers through his, admittedly getting too long, hair. “How about you, ma?”

“I am not your mother, habibi.” She glanced at him from where she was hunched, removing her boots. “You look like a dog.”

The four of them ate together, Sam’s delicious meal treating Jesse a whole hell of a lot better than anything he would have found in their canteen on base. He laughed and joked with Fareeha about her schooling and some new movie she wanted to see with an up and coming heartthrob actor in it. It was so normal, at the time, that it barely struck him just how lucky he was to have that feeling again. 

Ana did end up forcing him into a seat to trim his hair up, Sam laughing and refusing to play his backup the entire time. It reminded him so much of that day as a child when his real mother had cut all his hair off for him, that warmest happiest memory in his heart. 

______

Twenty-Five (2064)

Jesse hadn’t considered, when he first agreed to join Overwatch, just how much traveling it would end up being. They had a pretty nice base set up, and his personal quarters had only gotten cozier and more personal in his eight years living there, but it was pretty rare he got to actually sleep there. 

It wasn’t bad, though! It was just strange. No McCree had ever left the country so casually before, let alone hopping continent to continent without so much as a second thought. The jet lag would catch up to him from time to time and knock him flat for a day, but it was all worth it.

He got to see some of the most beautiful places in the most beautiful locations in the world. Half the time they were out for work, either tracking someone for information or killing them, but all work came with downtime and he made sure to use his well. Dorado had some of the shadiest dive bars with the most genuine folks hidden inside. He had drinks with gang members and pretty girls and loud music every night he could get away. Until he caught a couple guys beating up on an omnic in an alleyway, beat their asses in return, and Gabe effectively grounded him from having any more fun.

He was a flirt, at the bottom line of it. He found a date in every new city in every new country. Man, woman, omnic, it didn’t matter much to him, and his cover story always had him playing some kind of traveler. No one ever expected a traveler to be sticking around for long, so when the time came for him to leave suddenly none of his hookups would ever really mind that much.

It was fun and he liked it. Eight years on the straight and narrow, eight years of standing shoulder to shoulder with people who were talked about like superheroes, and eight years on hormone therapy. He hadn’t exactly been crushed by insecurity when he was younger, but he had nothing like the easy confidence he’d gained since. 

Gabe didn’t always agree with him wandering off if he thought it was going to distract from the mission, but it never caused any trouble. (He never told Jack, who would surely have a lot to say about it.) Other times, he’d come along. He never brought anyone home with him, never had dates, but he would drink with Jesse and make stupid jokes and teach him the worst phrases he knew in whatever local language they were surrounded with.

Numbani was his favorite. It was modern, clean, and no one there cared who was doing what with whom. Omnics wandered the streets just as casually as any human, window shopping, chatting, and laughing together. Human and omnic couples were as commonly found as any other variety that people paired off into. It was nice to see, it made him hope the rest of the world would catch up before too long.

______

Twenty-Seven (2066)

Life with Overwatch never truly became predictable, but even Jesse had managed in some way to find a routine. He’d settled a little bit from his rowdiest partying days, something that Gabe never stopped teasing him for getting old about, but it was comfortable for him. Like Gabe had any room to talk anyway, the old man was creeping ever closer to fifty, not that anyone could tell thanks to all the super soldier work done to him.

Anyway, comfort in routine, that was something Jesse was really learning to get used to.

There was a hell of a fuss very suddenly in early spring, a definite break in routine.

One of the Shimadas was killed. Not the old man, he’d died several years before of old age, lucky for him. One of the sons, the heirs. Jesse didn’t know the details and it wasn’t his business to go creeping into. Still, rumors spread fast. A monster had ripped him apart, a rival clan had kidnapped and tortured him, he had done it to himself in shame. 

What people didn’t know was that the brother had been rescued, dragged in by the cover of night right onto their base in a secret recovery room, barely clinging to life. His body had been destroyed, and Angela had worn herself down to the bone for hours on end to bring him back to stability.

Jesse only found this out months later when Gabe called him into his office, looking as tired as he once had in a dusty interrogation room in a shitty overcrowded New Mexican police station. He told Jesse the truth, the Shimada had been saved, turned into something quasi-human in exchange for servitude, but he wasn’t doing well.

When Jesse asked why the hell he was being told about it, Gabe had suggested he talk to him. Of all people on base. Jesse McCree.

“You have a certain charm to some people.” Gabe said it in the same tone he’d once said ‘you’re an annoying fuck,’ so Jesse knew what he meant. 

“You want me to bug him into, what, listening to you?” Jesse asked.

“Talk to him,” Gabe had corrected. “Show him we’re not all….”

“Assholes?” Jesse guessed. If the guy had met Jack already, it wouldn’t be a surprise to find he hated them all. 

Gabe slipped him a key card and walked away.

\--

The recovery room was dimly lit when he first entered, bordering on full dark. He’d bumped into Angela in the hallway, looking exhausted as usual, weary, sad. She warned him of what awaited him, that this person had barely lived through trauma that most people would never even experience, that he wasn’t very friendly.

He knew his name was Genji, but that was it.

No amount of warnings could have prepared him.

He looked dead, at first, laying in his plush bed with the nicest pillows Overwatch had to offer. His chest didn’t move, there were wires hanging loosely off of him draping over the edge of the bed and what wasn’t wire was covered in gauze, an iv drip stood next to the bed, and a heart monitoring machine was turned off nearby. He had to have heard Jesse enter the room, but he showed no reaction to his footsteps whatsoever. 

“Howdy,” Jesse said.

Genji made no move, his eyelids fluttered in a half blink. 

“Name’s McCree,” he added. He stepped a bit closer. 

Finally, Genji’s eyes cracked open, a barely perceptible squinting, glancing in his peripheral vision to find the annoying intruder. He said nothing. Jesse waited another ten minutes before he left.

He returned the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

For two weeks.

Genji finally spoke to him on his fifteenth visit. Jesse had taken to talking about the people in Overwatch, who they were, what they did, the ways in which his life had improved since joining so long ago. He wasn’t even sure Genji was listening or could understand him, but he figured it was better than sitting alone in a dark room.

“I don’t care.” His voice was rusty, like he hadn’t been using it. It was soft, but with a mechanical undertone to it that made him cringe when he heard himself. 

“About what?” Jesse asked, hoping to hear even more.

Genji said nothing, Jesse could see his shoulders shaking where they peeked out from his blanket. He stayed silent until Jesse left again.

When Jesse returned the next day, it was with a book in hand. He figured maybe Genji really didn’t care about the people in Overwatch. Maybe he’d care more about something a little more fictional. He asked if he was interested and got no response as usual, but his eyes darted around toward Jesse’s hands, still trying to act like he wasn’t looking at all.

He read the first two chapters of the book before it was time for him to go. He hesitated before running off, deciding in a split second to leave the book at the edge of the bed.

There was a mission he was dragged away on, not too long, less than a week. Gabe didn’t seem surprised to hear that he hadn’t made much progress with Genji.

When he returned, it was surprising even to himself how quickly he tried to get to that recovery room. You could hardly miss someone who was as bad a companion as Genji had been so far, but somehow…

It was surprising, then, when he opened the door and Genji was sitting up in bed with an open book in his lap. There was a whole stack of books on the bedside table, the one he’d started before he left at the bottom of the stack. 

Genji glanced up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes widened and he looked away, back to his book immediately. 

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Jesse commented. If he was expecting enough to have changed that Genji might respond, he was sorely mistaken. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

He sat in his now customary chair, let himself get comfortable, and fell asleep.

Hours later the sound of a book clapping lightly against a table pulled him out of his dreams. He’d slouched into the chair significantly, but only slightly drooled on himself, so he figured his cool guy image would only be slightly tarnished. Genji was still sitting up, but his book was gone, he stared at Jesse unblinking.

“Sorry.” Jesse stretched, making his elbows pop and his sore muscles pull taught. “Jet lag.”

Genji continued to stare, unmoving.

“You alright?” He asked, beginning to feel awkward.

Slowly, Genji nodded his head.

It was the first chance Jesse had really gotten a good look at him. His face was still heavily bandaged and the seam in his chest where flesh met with new cybernetic parts looked tender and red. Genji looked like he was more scar than flesh, it made his body ache to just look at him. One leg poked out from the blankets, tubes and fibers weaving together in a bastardization of the shapes of human muscle. 

“Did you enjoy the book?” Jesse asked after an appropriate amount of awkward time passed without Genji speaking or moving.

He nodded again.

\--

Spring crept into summer proper and Genji still did not speak to Jesse. His moods seemed to fluctuate with little warning, Jesse slowly learned to look for the warning signs.

On a good day Genji would be reading, would have the blinds opened a crack. He even had a small sketchbook open on his lap sometimes, but never let anyone see what was inside.

Bad days were probably more common. Angela had gifted him a vase with flowers, hoping the color would add some levity to the room, Genji had smashed it against the opposite wall and cut his hand up something nasty in the process. On a bad day his eyes would go unfocused and he would shake in bed, haunted by memories.

It was a bad day when Jesse opened his mouth to tell him he knew what it felt like, living in a body that didn’t feel like it could possibly be your own. Genji had glared, shook, and leapt across the room faster than Jesse could comprehend. “You know nothing!” He’d screamed, the loudest Jesse had ever heard him be. He had only a moment to be surprised by that before Genji stabbed him in the chest with a scalpel.

He was bigger than Genji, and even in shock and pain he managed to shove him away with relative ease. “Asshole,” Jesse shouted back, groaning at the sharp pain in his chest. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it hurt like fuck, and he slammed the door to Genji’s room hard enough to rattle the windows when he stomped away. (The doctor’s comically shocked expression when he showed up with a scalpel sticking out of him was almost funny enough to erase his anger.)

Jesse avoided visiting for a week, making excuses and acting like he was too busy. He wasn’t scared of being stabbed again, no way Genji could have stolen away another stabbing device so soon. He was scared of what he might say to Genji, didn’t want to scream at him and ruin what minimal progress they’d made. He caved though, stood outside of his door for an eternity before finally knocking and letting himself in slowly.

Genji looked thoroughly surprised to see him. His bandages had been removed long ago, though he was still healing, scars fading to a pale pink. His eyebrows rose when he glanced up from his book. His hair had steadily grown since his arrival, often obscuring most of his face.

“Hi,” Jesse said. 

Genji stared for a long time. He looked back to his book but shut his eyes, steadying himself. “Why are you here.” His flesh hand held his blanket in a death grip. 

“I always come here.” Jesse sat in his usual seat, found himself moving slower than he used to. 

Eyebrows narrowed over dark, angry eyes. How had Jesse not noticed before that every movement Genji made was full of anger, every expression that crossed his face was with fury in his eyes. “Do not mock me,” he threatened.

“I’m not.” Jesse showed his palms, global symbol of forfeit. “I wasn’t before, either.”

He thought Genji would return to silence or worse, attack him again. Surprisingly, neither of those things happened. 

“How could you have any idea how I feel.” It wasn’t much of a question, he didn’t seem to be asking for a response.

There was a moment of calculation in Jesse’s head. It wasn’t often in his life that people reacted poorly to him telling his truth, people generally had way more important shit to worry about, but it had happened sometimes. Then again, he figured Genji had already stabbed him, how much worse could he react.

“You know the word transgender?” Genji nodded once. “Well, I used to look a lot different.”

Genji’s eyes looked no less intense and no less angry, even as he looked Jesse over from a new perspective.

“When I say I know how you feel,” Jesse said. “I know it’s not exactly the same, but I get the idea.”

There was an extended silence between the two of them. Jesse decided to break it and push his luck all in one go. He hadn’t been stabbed again yet.

“You hate your voice, don’t you?” He’d noticed the way Genji would cringe every time he heard himself speaking, that it used to make him shake like a leaf in his bed. His accent wasn’t so strong, but the way his synthetic lower jaw pulled at his expressions affected his pronunciation sometimes. The work Angela had done to his face extended into his throat and added that mechanical undertone that clearly bothered him most of all. 

Genji nodded again, unable to look Jesse in the eyes. 

“I get it.” He left it at that. Being showered with sympathy sometimes only felt worse. Actual understanding could be worth so much more.

He stopped pressing for more from Genji, let him return to his book, and sat back to listen to the pages turn. Before he left, he stopped by the door and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I think your voice sounds nice.”

\--

Maybe it was related to their conversation, maybe it wasn’t, but Genji talked to him more after that. They talked about Dr. Ziegler and her work, Genji hated his body but did not resent her for creating it, he worried that she was scared of him. There were flashes of the real Genji in those moments. The more he talked, though, the more Jesse saw all of the anger that was constantly boiling over inside him.

“I want to get out of this room,” he confessed one afternoon in the early fall. They’d been chatting about Jesse’s work, an upcoming mission in Spain and what was expected of it.

“To work? Jesse asked. 

“I have no choice.” His pronunciation had steadily improved once they started talking and he learned to manipulate his new jaw better. “Wasting away in this room has gotten me no closer to killing Hanzo.”

“Hanzo?” Genji didn’t make a habit of talking about his life before Overwatch, and he definitely didn’t bring up anyone involved in his killing.

“He did this to me,” Genji growled. “My brother.”

Jesse felt his heart swoop into his stomach in that instant. His mind flew to Fareeha, twenty-two and ready to leap headfirst into following her mother’s footsteps, still so much of a kid at heart. The closest thing to a sibling he’d ever had. He wouldn’t hurt her if someone had a gun to his head, and somehow Genji’s brother had been able to do this to him. 

He thought maybe people must have been right when they said the Shimada had been torn apart by a monster.

\--

He reported to Reyes as he had been a couple times every month. There hadn’t been much new to say for a long time, but he let him know Genji was angry, out for revenge, but ready for work. That was enough for him.

The plates on Genji’s body changed gradually over the next couple weeks. His legs were covered in removable protective plates, his chest and arm gained new detail and protection as well, the glowing red circle that disrupted elegant looking collarbones was branded with the Blackwatch logo. He was given a faceplate that clicked seamlessly in place over his jaw and forehead, it hardened him. Without being able to see his round cheeks and expressive mouth, all that showed was angry hateful eyes.

He trained. Still in his room, at first. His physical therapy had been extensive up to then, but focused on being able to walk and lift and grip. Jesse walked in on Genji up and out of bed more than ever before, stretching and running in place, testing his new body out in ways he hadn’t attempted before. 

After a few weeks, he joined the general training rooms to work with other people. He sparred with Jesse a few times and listened intently to Gabe while he lectured slash punched him. He fought hand to hand like a demon, angry and intense and beyond control but not reckless. He wasn’t rushing into positions he knew would get him hurt, but he was unpredictable. Jesse was always left breathless on the ground after a fight with Genji.

When Genji finally joined him and the rest of a tossed together Blackwatch team on a dropship headed out, it was with a new haircut. His hair had grown to be long and limp, only looking somewhat clean on occasion, the ends a faded memory of what must have been a very bright green. The green had all been cut away and his hair was styled up and away from his faceplate.

“Swords?” Jesse questioned out loud when he saw Genji unloading to grab a seat nearby. Everyone else on the ship was either too afraid to talk to the mysterious new entry and made themselves scarce, or were too busy arranging things for the mission.

Genji nodded once, curt. Back to silence then. Once seated he lifted his right arm. Jesse watched as one of his new panels opened up and three shuriken appeared and slotted into his fingers, then back just as smoothly.

“Impressive.” Jesse nodded. That Ziegler did good work. “Just don’t stab me again.”

A nearby cadet had been fiddling with some equipment, making sure the ship had everything they needed in order. Mostly eavesdropping. Everyone was simultaneously curious and terrified of the new cyborg member of Blackwatch. She echoed ‘again’ to herself in shock.

Genji hummed beside him and made a weird noise.

They shipped off and as soon as they got to work, he didn’t see Genji once.

It was in the middle of being shot at, hiding behind weak cover that he realized what the weird noise was.

“ _You laughed_ ,” he shouted down over their communication devices in shock.

A disgruntled and down to business Reyes interjected. “Comm lines clear, McCree.”

“Sir.” He acknowledged the command, recognized reprimand when he heard it. Still, he couldn’t believe it. Genji Shimada, angry terrifying demon of a man, actually laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Also as tagged, this is not beta read, if you've spotted some error somewhere feel free to tell me so


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